


Strong Drink

by Canaan



Series: Major Arcana [12]
Category: Doctor Who
Genre: AU, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, PWP, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-27
Updated: 2010-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-14 03:50:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/145030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Canaan/pseuds/Canaan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Expanded from a drabble out of Wendymr's last drabble tag challenge.  Set sometime before "To Please" in my Major Arcana AU, but that barely matters--you can read this stand-alone.  Much thanks to Aibhinn and Robin C. for beta work.  Disclaimer:  I don't own them and I'm not making any money.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strong Drink

"All I wanted was a nice cup of tea! How was I t'know it'd be intoxa . . . toxicay . . . it'd make a Time Lord drunk?"

Rose squeezed the Doctor's hand. "'s okay, Doctor, goin' to go sleep if off."

"Keep putting one foot in front of the other," Jack encouraged. The Doctor had an arm across his shoulders for balance. "You drive, I'll steer."

The Doctor stopped abruptly, wobbled, and looked at Jack with injured dignity. "Oi! You complain' about my drivin'?"

Jack grinned and pushed a little to start them moving again. "Not at all, Doc. I like a rough ride."

*

Humans--always on about sleep. Spend a third of their lives missing everything. Why should he waste time "sleeping it off?" He captures Rose with an arm about her waist, grinning at her little squeal of surprise and enjoying the way her body molds itself to his. "Always wanted to do that," he says, and bends to kiss her deeply. She still tastes of that foolish tea that's got loose in his system while he wasn't paying attention. It's even more pleasant off her lips than it was out of a cup, and since he's already drunk, there's no sense not enjoying himself.

"It's a good thing you're not an angry drunk, Doc," Jack says wryly.

The Doctor makes a disgruntled noise. When Rose pulls away to breathe, he straightens up and looks at his other lover. "Why would I be angry when I feel this good?" he asks, his hand slipping from Jack's shoulder to the nape of his neck. Jack draws a shaky breath, hesitates, and lets the Doctor draw him in for a kiss.

*

Rose wasn't sure they'd make it down the corridor, and they almost didn't. Between the Doctor's weaving and overbalancing and the way his hands wandered (not that she was going to complain about that--she'd been doing plenty of affectionate groping of her partners, herself), they staggered more than a bit.

When Jack licked and nibbled at the Doctor's ear, they almost came a cropper as the Time Lord pushed him up against the wall with one hand and more-than-human strength. Rose looked from the Doctor's fingers, splayed out over Jack's chest, to the taut shoulders and blown pupils of her partners. _When you look up "desire" in the dictionary,_ she thought, _you see a picture of this._

The Doctor's hand eased down toward the button on Jack's jeans. Rose stepped closer to them and captured the Time Lord's wrist in a light grip. "Bedroom first, then trousers," she insisted, her voice breathy in her own ears. "If you start on the trousers here, we'll never make it to bed, and I hate having grating prints on my bum."

*

Their bed seems very large. Which makes sense, since three of them sleep in it on some kind of regular basis and two of them are tall men. It's vast and welcoming, but he's still standing, because Jack and Rose have their hands all over him. They're peeling away his clothing, stripping him out of his armour. There's something shivery about letting them draw his jumper up over his head, about allowing hands on his button and zip, about letting someone else have control over his skin.

Then he's standing in just his boots, with his trousers and pants around his ankles, and he's not sure why. His neurons are doing something very strange. He thinks it might be the macarena. Who the hell does the macarena anymore?

There's a gentle pressure on his hips. "Sit down, Doc," Jack says tenderly. "Let me take your boots off."

*

She thought the Doctor could talk, sober. It was nothing to the pleasant haze of drunken babble as they laid him on the bed and crawled into it on either side of him.

"Fashionable, like big hats or powdered wigs or bell-bottoms. Never did figure out bell-bottoms, and they just keep coming back." She pressed kisses over his chest and down into the hollow of his hip. "But not acceptable. Rebellious. Stodgy old . . . elders . . . were shocked, really. Outraged. Tried to outlaw it. Supervised and watched, but there were always broom cupboards--well, not brooms, as such, but cupboards--and study sessions that weren't all about temporal mechanics and quantum interactions. Couldn't--" He gasped a little as Jack reached around and past her to cradle their lover's balls in one large palm. "Couldn't chase it down, weed it out, finally stopped trying. It was a fad, a phase . . . a bit disgusting, maybe, but we'd grow out of it, couldn't last much past the hundredth birthday. We'd look back on our behavior and wonder what we'd been thinking, and try to quash any rumors if we ever decided we wanted to be on the Council. And yet somehow, I became President . . . "

"Doctor," Rose breathed, stretching out beside him again, "what _are_ you talkin' about?"

He stopped, mid-sentence. "This," he said, bending forward to kiss her, his tongue licking tenderly at the inside of her mouth. He wrapped one long-fingered hand around her breast, stroking and teasing until his mouth drew away from hers. "And this." He tongued her nipple, drawing a little whimper from her. She arched into it as his lips settled around the aureole and he suckled, hard enough she could just barely feel the edge of his teeth. She squirmed with the sensation. His breath was cool across the heat of her flesh when he pulled back. His fingers slipped between her legs and she moaned for him as he drew her own dampness up to circle her clit with slick fingertips. "And _definitely_ this . . . "

*

He would _not_ laugh, even if it killed him. The look on Rose's face made it entirely clear that it was _not funny_ as the Doctor lost his rhythm again, distracted by some ancient memory or flicker in the timelines. Even though it was. "Doctor," she gasped, flushed and needy, "some famous historical bloke said that drinking gives desire, but takes away ability."

The Doctor stopped. "Shakespeare." Jack buried his face in the mattress, trying to smother a snicker. Snickering wasn't really laughing, right?

She growled. "Not my point. Roll over, Romeo."

*

They're beautiful together. Always have been: gold and dark, brown and blue, soft curves and hard planes. They're sitting up in bed, and Rose is on top again, but Jack is driving, lifting her and thrusting in small, sharp strokes that strengthen desire and prolong their coupling. Her head rests on his shoulder, trusting, even as her ankles are hooked together in the small of his back, drawing him in with every thrust.

They're so right together, his humans. He's waiting for the day--years from now, if he's lucky--they'll decide they don't want to wander anymore. They'll settle down together. Raise children. Eventually, Rose will die, and what will become of Jack then? He'll be alone in the universe, one of a kind, like a maudlin old fool careless enough to let his entire species burn . . .

Fingertips brush unnoticed tears from his cheeks. He blinks as human-warm arms go around him from both sides. Someone says, "It's okay. I don't know what it is, Doctor, but it's okay. We're here. We love you."

*

The Doctor's coordination didn't matter in this position. They hadn't done this before, the three of them, not with the Doctor in the middle. Rose and Jack could control the tempo, could hold him between them and soothe him, could feel the ebb and flow of his joy in a way Jack thought might be telepathic bleed-over or might just be the tiny cues you read, natural as breathing, when you've become this close to someone.

The Doctor still went misty-eyed on them by fits and starts, but it wasn't the quiet, bereft weeping of before. With each shallow, gentle thrust, Jack caught a glimpse of Rose's rapt face while her eyes were fastened on the Doctor's. He looked through the mirror of her gaze at the expression on his other lover's face, and was content.

*

It isn't about sex, it's never about sex. Humans and their obsession with sex. He always loved them, and it always hurt in the end, but sometimes he forgot and let them in anyway--and it could be fantastic.

Enfolded between them, loved by both of them, it's not about who's put what bit where, it's about the tenderness in their embrace. He wanted to feel them both, to lose himself in their scent and their heat, to let his tears dry in Rose's hair while Jack murmured soothing nonsense in his ear. He drinks in their passion, their compassion, their love, until he's not empty anymore, until all the hollow places in his hearts are full to overflowing, until he can't last any longer and fills himself with their pleasure, and his own.

*

"To the _Empress_?" Rose asked.

"Yup," the Doctor said.

"You _didn't_ ," Jack said, laughing.

"'Fraid so," the Time Lord said amiably.

"And I thought _Jack_ could tell stories," Rose said, grinning. "Should've got you drunk a long time ago."

A wry humour colored the Doctor's laugh. "Goin' to regret this in the morning, me."

Rose propped herself up on her elbow and looked down at him. "Why?" The soft look on his face was beyond belief. _This is what he looks like,_ she thought, _without the weight of the Time War bearing down on him._

"'s not proper," he said, voice mild and unconcerned. "Got plenty of practice looking foolish, but my companions aren't meant to have to take care of me. Not supposed to see me _need_. Imagine I'll feel quite stupid, when I stop feelin' all warm and tingly."

Jack made a rude noise as he stroked the Doctor's chest. "Doc," he said, "there's nothing wrong with getting a little drunk now and then."

The Doctor chuckled. "Says the paragon of virtue and restraint."

Rose laid a finger against his lips. "Hush," she said tenderly. "Don't you dare go all funny tomorrow. Universe doesn't end if you're not miserable for a few hours. And next time we need to go shopping, I'd like to go back to that world." When the Doctor made an inquisitive noise, she said, "Think we could stand to buy some tea."


End file.
